Partners
by supermantn
Summary: Bill, Ralph, Pam, Tony... what happens when the term "partner" is really examined!


Partners

By

Dough Hubler

"Agent Anthony Villicana, reporting for duty, sir."

Bill Maxwell felt his shoulders drop to his waist. He didn't need to turn from his filing cabinet to know who had just entered his cubicle… he recognized the accent immediately. New York Bronx meets L.A. attitude and creates the love child of Brando and Travolta.

"Villicana!" huffed the senior FBI agent, his back still turned towards the intrusion. "What're you doin' up here? These offices are top secret, feds only!"

"Yes sir, Mr. Maxwell, I know dat."

Bill closed the file drawer and turned towards the kid with a grumble in his throat. The sight of Tony Villicana startled him bolt upright. The last time Maxwell had seen the kid was just after he had graduated from Whitney High School. "I lost a bundle on that bet!" Bill had complained to Tony's teacher, Ralph Hinkley. His last impression of Tony was the same as his first, unruly shocks of jet-black hair, tight denim jeans, even tighter black t-shirt, and a smirk that would curl the Mother Superior's rosary.

Now, however, the Tony before him stood straight and tall in an ultra-conservative dark suit, hair neatly trimmed, his face totally devoid of expression.

"Well, well, well," Maxwell grinned, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "Would'ja look at what the cat coughed up! Uh, funeral or wedding?… not that there's much difference between the two!"

Villicana's eyes held Bill's and a smile began to play about the corners of his mouth.

"I gotta tell ya, kid, you're lookin' real sharp!" Maxwell admitted as he stood and started making his way around his desk. "Job interview, huh? Well, I'm sure that all the other little curtain climbers from class are proud as punch of ya, but, you still can't be up here in….."

Bill stopped above his chair in mid-sit and slowly straightened. "Waitaminit… what did you call me?"

"Mr. Maxwell, sir," came the simple reply.

"That's what I thought you called me!" said Bill as he came boldly back around the desk to face the young man. "You wouldn't put a 'mister' in front of my name unless you were bleeding, on fire, or… no," he concluded, his shoulders resuming their previous position near his belt. "They wouldn't… they couldn't….."

The bi-fold was suddenly in Tony's hand and open, chest high, when he grinned and finished, "They did!"

Bill couldn't tear his eyes away from the laminated identification card and accompanying badge. "… special… agent… Anthony Villicana?" he read slowly. "You're a fed! You!"

Tony pocketed the bi-fold and shrugged, "Just gotta get my hours in with a senior agent and I'm what'cha call 'bonafide'!"

"… senior… agent…" the words fell softly from Bill's mouth and rolled around on the floor a bit before rebounding back into his face. "Senior… you don't mean me!"

"Now waitaminit, Maxwell… I mean, Mr. Maxwell," Tony corrected himself. "I requested you special! I figured we knew each other and you're kinda an alright guy, and I'd be close'ta Rhonda now that the baby's comin' and all."

Maxwell's mind, already a shambles, flashed back to an image of Rhonda Blake, a girl he had watched grow from a troubled teen nicknamed "Love Me, Rhonda" to a lovely young woman with a promising singing career ahead of her.

"Baby?" he repeated, aghast. "You went and got that little girl in trouble?"

Suddenly, the old Tony Villicana stood before him, his body taut with tensed musculature, his fists balled at his sides. "Hey, now, what kinda jerk you take me for, huh? Me and Rhonda, we was married a whole two weeks before she got pregnant!"

A short, relieved chuckle escaped the elder agent as he said, "Married, huh? A whole two weeks before….."

Tony, relaxing as well, tossed off a practiced shrug, saying, "Well, you know, the Villicana line has always been what'cha call 'fertile'. My grandma used'ta say that we was so fertile that if we stood still too long, we'd take root! I ain't 'xactly sure what that means, but it sounds like sumpthin' to be proud of, don't it?"

"Yeah," Bill drew out with a sigh. "I suppose it does. Doesn't answer the question of 'why me' now, though!"

Tony shifted his weight to one leg and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Okay, see, here's the thing. You and Mr. H… I mean, Mr. Hinkley, turned out t'be pretty tight, but I was there when the two'a you met, and it weren't no match made in heaven!"

Villicana looked at the floor and began shuffling his feet. "But, he kept goin' t'bat for you, y'know… saying you was a real stand-up guy and all."

His eyes came up and locked with Bill's. "And all them times you and me stood nose'ta nose, you never backed down, even though we both know I could'a creamed'ya. So, I figure, a guy like me, I gotta respect that."

Maxwell actually felt touched by the sentiment… for a moment… until Tony continued with, "So's, I figured since I gotta have some old guy show me the ropes… hey, no offense!"

"No, of course not!" Bill replied in undisguised sarcasm. "Who could possibly take offense at that?"

"Anyway, I thought why not you?" Tony finished. "Mr. H, he once tol' me how important it was to pick the right friends. I picked him. Now," he said softly, almost shyly, extending his right hand. "I kinda think I'd like t'pick you."

"Uh," Bill cleared his throat once, then slowly brought his own right hand up to clasp Tony's. "Well… kid… uh, if we're gonna do this," he launched into honcho mode. "We're gonna do it by the book, that's just the kinda guy I am! You don't like it, tough toenails!"

Tony beamed a toothy grin and said, "You're on, Mr. M!"

Bill circled his desk to grab his sport coat from the back of his chair and struggle into it. "And, it ain't gonna be easy, Villicana! You screw up and I'm gonna be all over you like ugly on a ape!"

As the two agents left the office and made their way towards the elevator, Bill added questioningly, "I sure would like to know who set this whole thing up. Maybe if I ask Carlisle….."

The elevator doors open and Tony asked, "You mean my Uncle Les?"

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"It's time you realized that you're not his 'uncle'… you're his 'father' and he needs you to act like one!"

"Pamela," Ralph began.

"And, don't use my full name in that patronizing, condescending, 'teacher' voice!" Pam Hinkley chided. "You know I'm right about this!"

The strikingly beautiful, dark-haired attorney paced the length of her living room, her arms folded defensively across her chest. When she turned back to her husband, she had reclaimed the courtroom calm that she was so noted for.

"Ralph, Kevin is a teenager now and for the last couple of years," Pam measured her words carefully, knowing how the truth can burn those who don't want to hear it. "For the past few years, you've as much as ignored his very existence."

The slight, bemused smile that Ralph Hinkley had employed while watching his incredibly attractive wife walk to and fro past him was suddenly replaced by a tight, short, straight line of lip.

"Ralph, when was the last time Kevin even spent a weekend here with us?" she asked gently, but pointedly. "Its as if Alicia has finally won full custody of him!"

"You know, its one thing to bring my ex-wife into this," Ralph replied tightly. "But, you're going to get nowhere with me by imitating her!"

Pam strained to retain control of both her emotions and the situation at hand, choosing to ignore her husband's comment as best as she was able.

"I have a vested interest in Kevin, Ralph," she attempted to explain. "I am his stepmother."

"And we all know which adjective usually precedes that," he muttered just loud enough to be heard.

Pamela Davidson Hinkley was well accustomed to personal attacks in the courtroom, but here, in the sanctuary of her own home, Ralph's words hit her like a kick in the chest.

"That hurt, Ralph," she said softly, her voice cracking with emotion. "That was meant to be mean and hurtful, and I don't deserve that!"

Ralph, his own heart breaking at the echo of his words, relented immediately and contritely crossed the room to his wife's side, wrapping his arms around her.

"You're right, Pam, and I'm sorry," he offered weakly. Holding Pam at that moment was like hugging twisted steel, but slowly, she began to relax and lean into his embrace. "You're nothing like Alicia and I was an idiot to even imply it… and, you're a wonderful stepmother to Kevin."

"How do we know that, Ralph," she responded, gently releasing herself from his grasp. "How do we know what kind of a stepmother I am when I'm never given the chance to try?"

She moved to the coffee table and pulled a tissue from the box that they always kept ready for sad movies as Ralph began a feeble explanation.

"Its just that," he started, his hands waving aimlessly, having no earthly idea how to help emphasize his words. "We were settling in as newlyweds, then there was your job, my job, plus all that time I spent in the suit….."

The suit.

The magical, mystical, extraterrestrial suit that had been presented to Ralph Hinkley and a, then, total stranger named Bill Maxwell in the desert sands of Palmdale, California. Something straight out of the Sunday funnies, it was form fitting, fire-engine red and sported a cape. It also gave the Special Education teacher powers and abilities mortal man might merely imagine.

He and Agent Maxwell had spent the past few years forging a bond of true friendship as they used the powers of "the suit" to right wrongs that, otherwise, would have progressed unimpeded.

"Don't you dare blame this on the suit," Pam sniffed as she dabbed her dark eyes with the tissue. "I'll admit that, in the beginning, Bill used to show up nearly once a week with a new 'scenario', but since we all returned from that business in South America, that seems to have changed, at least on Bill's part."

She picked up the tissue box and held it to her chest as she began to pace again. "He seems confidant again, even more so than I've ever seen him, and he doesn't call you into the game even once a month anymore… so, what is this really about, Ralph? Is it me? Is it Alicia? Kevin? What?"

Ralph stood silent, his hands on his hips, for several uncomfortable moments. He then threw his hands out in a gesture of resignation, but said, "I need some air… I'm going out!"

As he strode purposefully into the bedroom, Pam tried to follow, only to find her way barred by the quickly closing and locking bedroom door. She resisted the urge to pound out her frustration on the door, yet still called out, "Ralph, don't walk away from me like this! We need to talk! Ralph!"

She grabbed the doorknob and turned, knowing it would be to no avail… so, she was startled that it did turn and the door pushed easily open. She hadn't heard Ralph undo the lock or open the bedroom window, but the disheveled pile of clothes on the floor told Pam Hinkley exactly where her husband had gone.

"Ralph," she said quietly to the clouds beyond the open window. "We're supposed to work these things out together. We're partners."

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"Yeah, that's right," he agreed, extending his right hand. "Partners!"

There was only one reason why anyone would wear full-face knitted ski-masks in Los Angeles in the middle of July and both men knew exactly what that reason was. As the more muscular of the two accepted the handshake, he used it to pull his friend down into a crouch behind the concrete shoulder barrier.

The overpass was clear for the moment and, after taking one last scan of the area, both men turned and began the steep slide down the embankment to the dirt service road below.

The smaller of the two gestured past the vast area of overgrown brush and said, "He's got one'a them new, put-together, aluminum warehouses over there, the kind they sell on TV. That's where the cars should be!"

"You got the extra key, don't'cha?" the taller one asked.

His partner reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled from it a gold chain with a key dangling from it. "I been keepin' it right next to my heart, bro!"

"Then, lets go get my car, mah brudduh!"

The two moved as though they had grown up skulking about in secret, making their way through the fruitless vegetation, until they at last saw the structure. It was indeed a pre-fabricated aluminum building, hanger-style, with one wall-less end. Even from their vantage-point, the two masked invaders could see the bodies of several sleek and impressive vehicles.

"This is where he stashes 'em, man, every one he wins offa someone!" said the shorter man, his voice shaking with childlike excitement.

"Yeah, especially mine!" said his partner. "Gimme the key."

The smaller of the two did as he was told, adding, "Hey, and if they was stupid enough t'leave the keys in them other cars, I might just get me one, too!"

Feeling that the time was ripe, they both began a crouched dash towards the hanger, stopping only when there was brush or rock large enough to conceal them for a moment.

A mile or so away, Tony Villicana sat the passenger seat of Bill Maxwell's standard issue vehicle, verbally pounding away at him.

"How stupid do you think I am, Mr. Maxwell?" he asked.

"I take it that's a rhetorical question," Bill grinned.

"Hey, I dunno," Tony shrugged. "I never took no foreign language in school."

"Villicana, to you, 'english' is a foreign language!"

"Don't go be bustin' my chops, huh, just answer the question… how come it is that you was always bringin' Mr. H into all'a your cases?" demanded the young agent. "Y'know, I didn't think too much about it at the time, but now I know that bringin' a citizen into a federal case, well, it ain't 'zactly 'by the book'," he pointed accusingly. "And you was doin' it all the time! So, what is it, huh? What'chu got goin' with Mr. Hinkley that keeps bringin' him inta federal business? And, don't say he got no 'special official' permission or nothin' like that either, 'cause I checked through the whole database and his name didn't flag up nowhere!"

Bill set his jaw and stared straight at the road ahead. His fingers whitened for a moment around the steering wheel as he replied, "You ask too many questions, rookie."

Tony slumped down in his seat and turned to stare out his window, saying, "Yeah, but I don't get too many answers, boss."

The automatic gunfire not only seized the attention of the agents driving down the interstate, but also that of the Special Education teacher flying through the clouds. Ralph had taken to the sky, trying to shake the frustratingly accurate words of his wife from his mind, and finally managed to do so when he heard the shots. He cautiously banked his body to the right and scanned the area ahead.

Interstate highway going through a largely unpopulated and barren area… duty access road… partially hidden warehouse… and a small scale war!

As the situation grew closer and became clearer, Ralph could see two masked men cowering behind a long-ago dislodged boulder. Across the access road and from around the inside wall of the aluminum hanger, several armed and angry men were firing upon the two, managing only to send shards of shale flying from the massive, protective rock.

Back on the highway, Agent Maxwell managed to whip his vehicle over to the shoulder and bring it to a rolling halt as he leapt from the driver's seat, pulling his weapon as he moved. As he slid back the bolt, loading the chamber, he issued orders to his young protégé without bothering to look back. "Villicana, radio this in to the locals, get some backup down here… and stay put!" With that, Bill moved more smoothly than his years would allow one to believe, sliding over the concrete barrier and down the embankment beyond.

Tony had absolutely no problem whatsoever fulfilling the first of his two commands. His quiet reply to the second one, however, was, "Like that's gonna happen!"

Assured that the police are enroute, Tony pulled his own weapon and crouched behind the short, concrete wall. He peered over it once, then twice. Assured that neither sniper nor partner were watching, he slid over the wall and down the dirt slope.

The young agent took refuge behind a thick, fallen tree and retrieved a small binocular from his jacket pocket. As he scanned the area, he saw the two men being fired upon crouching behind a massive rock. Adjusting the focus, he further noticed that the smaller of the two looked very near to wetting himself. Shaking his head and chuckling, he scanned further up and watched with awe and amazement as Bill Maxwell, a man he had previously had less than no regard for, ran, tucked, rolled and winded his way straight to the side of the warehouse completely unobserved by the gunmen.

Amidst the scream of bullets and gunfire and amidst the screams of the two masked men close to making messes on themselves, Agent Villicana's keen, youthful senses detected a third scream coming somehow from overhead. He turn his assisted gaze to the skies, held it there for a moment, pulled the binoculars away from his face, blinked his eyes twice, and looked to the skies again.

A man… a man with shocks of blond curls… blond curls and a cape… flying! It wasn't graceful, it wasn't elegant, it wasn't poised, but it was unassisted flight and Tony's mouth dropped open. Once again, he adjusted the sights on his binoculars and his mouth snapped back shut with a shuddering crack.

"Mr. H?" Villicana quietly asked no one in particular, falling backwards onto his backside and resting the binoculars in his lap. "Nahhh, it can't be! Mr. Hinkley, some kinda super-guy?" He scrambled back up onto his knees and, peering over the dead tree, surveyed the situation again. He watched as his former teacher banked, flailed, and finally fell from the decidedly unfriendly skies, landing just inside the hanger's open wall. Tony shook his head in awestruck wonder as, one by one, five men came flying from the structure. These flights, however, were even less controlled than Hinkley's as each man landed with a heavy thud and bounced, rolled, or slid into an unconscious heap.

Tony watched as Bill Maxwell came running over to Ralph Hinkley and could only wonder at what was being said. All he could do from where he knelt was watch Maxwell grin, slap Hinkley on the arm, then wildly gesture for him to shoo. Villicana could only manage an "I don't freakin' believe it!" as he watched one of his few, true friends take three running steps and bound into the air, taking flight out over the terrain and out of sight.

As he witnessed his senior partner holster his weapon and begin restraining the fallen gunmen, Tony stood and began making his way towards him. He kept his own weapon drawn as he neared the two masked men still locked in fetal positions, hiding their faces and shaking in fear.

"Its alright now, ladies," Tony called out. "The party's over! You can take off your Halloween masks now!"

"Villicana!" Bill blurted angrily, striding towards him. "I told you t'stay put!"

"Villicana?" repeated the smaller masked man. He looked up, hastily grabbed at his knitted hood and pulled it off, revealing a grinning face surrounded by long, curly and unruly hair. "Cyler!" Rodrigeuz cried out. "Look! Its Tony!"

The taller, more muscular of the less-than-dynamic duo couldn't get his own mask off fast enough. Once he did, a dark-skinned face broke into a wide, grateful grin. "Villicana! Man, are we glad to see you!"

"Oh, geez, Louise, would'ja just look at this?" Bill exclaimed as he finally arrived and stood next to his young partner. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here, huh? Rodrigeuz and Johnson! So, what was the plan, kiddies?… rip off the cat who lives under the bridge?"

The two former cohorts in Tony Villicana's special ed class turned a sneer at the elder agent, saying, "Mind'jer own bidness, Maxwell, we're talkin' t'Tony!"

Before either agent could make a reply, Johnson continued, saying, "Woo, Tony, check you out, man! That's the burial suit you got married in, ain't it? Well, at least you're lookin' better than old man Maxwell, here!"

"Hey!" Tony started, taking a threatening step towards his old classmates. Bill placed a light but restraining hand on the young man's arm, but Tony didn't stop talking. "Show a little respect for the man, huh? He just put his life on the line out here to save your worthless butts!"

"Well, who asked him to, man?" sneered Rodrigeuz. "We had the situation under control, brudduh! Cyler here lost his wheels in a race to the guy what lives under the bridge, y'know, and we was just gonna get 'em back!"

"Did you make that call I asked for, kid?" Bill asked quietly, turning towards his young protégé.

"Yes, sir, I sure did," Tony replied, staring holes through his former running buddies. "The local law is on their way." The sudden look of panic that this revelation placed on the faces of Johnson and Rodrigeuz caused Tony to quietly ask, "Mr. Maxwell, do we, uh, really have to involve these clowns with the officials?"

Bill looked over his shoulder at the two "tough guys" who suddenly looked more like scared little boys. He turned back to Tony and said, "It's your call, Agent Villicana. I'll back up whatever you decide."

Tony's face was a cartoon of startled surprise. "Whatever I decide? Why does it gotta be my choice?"

Maxwell took in a slow, deep breath and took just as long letting it out. "We all make choices, kid… you, me, them," he hooked a thumb back at the two boys behind him. "The only real trick is learning to live with them."

"Well," Tony offered aloud, weighing the situation. "They didn't actually break no federal law."

"No, they didn't."

"Which means whatever they did do, it ain't inside our jurisdiction. But, they were party to an expenditure of gunfire within city limits." he added. "And that ain't what'cha call 'kosher'."

Bill Maxwell watched the young man struggle with two separate sets of loyalties before Tony finally concluded with, "Okay, morons, here's the deal… we're gonna let you walk."

Cyler and Rodrigeuz grinned and slapped each other's open hand in a high-five gesture before Tony flattened them with, "But, we're also gonna give a full report, including your names, addresses, and phone numbers to the state police, just in case they got any further questions for you."

"Hey, Tony, c'mon!" Johnson cried. "I can't have no cops comin' 'round my mom's place! She thinks I'm out lookin' for work! Help a brother out, man!"

"It's either that or wait right here for the officers to show up and talk to you right now… and you can explain t'them why the two'a you was runnin' around in stocking caps!"

Rodrigeuz threw his mask as far as he could, stating, "Forget dat, man! I'll take my chances on theml forgetin' all 'bout me!" He grabbed Johnson by the arm and started pulling him towards the embankment and the steep climb back to the highway.

"Y'know, you've changed, Tony," Cyler sneered, shaking his head. "You've really changed, man!"

As the two FBI agents watched the young men scramble up the dirt slope, Maxwell uncharacteristically placed a hand on Villicana's shoulder, saying, "They're right… you have changed, Tony." Suddenly uncomfortable with the unintentional display of affection, Bill soundly patted Tony's shoulder, adding, "Ya done good, kid."

"Yeah," the young agent shrugged as he and Bill began the climb back to their car. "Then howcum I feel so bad 'bout it?"

"Comes with the territory, kid," Maxwell concluded as they both climbed back into the car and waited for the state police to arrive. "I had'ta bust one'a my oldest friends not too long ago… a man I really looked up to. It happens."

A toothy grin spread across Villicana's face as he said, "Speakin'a lookin' up to people, why don't we get back to that question 'bout you and Mr. Hinkley?"

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Mr. Hinkley actually flew better when he wasn't thinking about it. When his mind was lost in thought, and he wasn't fighting for control, the suit was able to do what it was designed to do.

He couldn't get over what he had seen. Granted, he had taken to the skies at Bill's suggestion following the skirmish at the warehouse, but he had doubled back to watch in seclusion until the local police arrived. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time that Bill Maxwell had gotten in over his head after the "all clear" had been sounded. When he realized that the two masked men were former students of his, the fact knocked the wind completely out of him.

Now, he soared above the clouds and out of easy observation, struggling with the truth. Johnson and Rodrigeuz, masked and attempting grand theft auto. He had spent so much time battling to keep Tony Villicana's head out of the noose that these other two just fell through the cracks. "If I had just spent a little more time with them as well," he muttered aloud. Then, as if someone else had spoken those words to him, a sickening realization stabbed him in the heart.

Kevin.

"For all I know, that could someday be Kevin… and all because there was nobody there for him… including me."

Ralph descended, strangely in control of both his flight and his convictions, landing unobserved inside his fenced-in and secluded backyard. As he slid the glass door open and entered the house, he called out, "Pam, honey… let's talk about Kevin."


End file.
